Be Happy, Harry
by biggrstaffbunch
Summary: [one-shot] What's the difference in giving up on someone and giving someone up? Ginny is sure that she knows. ll Ginny POV ll


Title: Be Happy, Harry

Author: biggerstaffbunch

Rating: G

A/N: Stemming from the "giving up, not getting over" debate...

* * *

I gave him up.

I know that they all say I gave up _on_ him. But I did no such thing...I'll always expect and hope for the best from Harry Potter. No, I gave him _up_. I thought that releasing the starry-eyed vision of a knight in shining armor from my mind and instead accepting who Harry really could be was what would make him finally see me.

It has to be. Because I gave him up. And I miss the truths about me and him that I used to accept as mine.

I used to think of him as if he belonged to me. Ever since the days of my childhood, when my Mum would tell me over and over again how I was born the day the entire wizarding world celebrated Vold- You Know Who's- death. She used to tell me that not only were they celebrating Harry Potter, they were celebrating me. I came to think of it as "us". My birthday became "our" day...and in sharing that day with him, I think I bonded myself to him for life. Every year, I'd sing a birthday song for me...but my wish would always be the same. _Be happy, Harry!_ It was such a simple wish, and one I never, never let go. My well-wishes and honest care for him made him real, somehow, in my heart. I kind of felt that I had a secret best friend...someone to confide in. Isn't that funny? Harry Potter was my imaginary friend. So you can imagine how it felt like to see him, flesh and blood, when I turned ten. At the train station. It was- Merlin. It was amazing. I fancied that he had winked at me, and given a private wave. Of course, it didn't happen...but it was nice to pretend. To keep him as mine. That year on my birthday, I sent him a sloppy card by owl, care of Ron. It was a singing car, a specialty of mine since even then. Sang "happy birthday...Harry, happy birthday....to you...." in strains, and somehow, I don't think Ron gave it to Harry. But I imagined him opening it and thanking his lucky stars that he had a friend like me.

Then when I entered Hogwarts...well, suffice to say, I grew up. I realized that Harry wasn't mine...that the warped, twisted Harry Potter fantasy I'd built up in my head was _nothing_ like the real Harry, and while both of them were wonderful, only one of them was real. And after he saved me from the Chamber...it hit home even stronger, then. That my friend Harry was never going to sing happy birthday with me again...that I couldn't retreat into childish dreams of a hero and a princess. 

I never even thanked him for saving me, you know.

After that, I saw a different side of Harry. No longer did my own dreams color my perception of the Bow-Who-Lived. I instead paid attention to another Harry, the real-life Harry who would be sullen and sad, quietly happy, brightly triumphant. I observed him and knew him as well as one could without really _knowing_ him. I kept him as mine.

Until he stopped smiling. Until Cedric died and then Michael asked me out, and until I suddenly got caught up in the adventure that was his life. It was strange- Harry was closer to my heart in those years we hardly spoke than he was in that one year I actively hung around him and Ron and Hermione. I saw the closed-off wall in his eyes, the exhausted twitch by his lips that showed he was trying to smile. I, along with all of Gryffindor, saw the cuts in his hand because of Umbridge, and I also knew that he would sit and take it. He didn't know it, but he probably saw it as a silent penance- something he deserved. He was always blaming himself for things that weren't his fault.

I realized that I couldn't keep him to myself anymore and actually be friends with him. I realized that I couldn't see this nakedly open, vulnerable Harry from afar, and still think it was okay. I knew that I had to be his friend, no matter what I had to be his friend. I had to be there for him, because only I really could understand what was going on underneath that ornery facade he put up. It was painful, to have to let my Harry go. But in a roundabout way, it was the only option if I was to ever really have him.

And so I gave him up. And I really hope that it was the right thing to do. I gave up my girlish love for him, gave up the long silences in favor of actually getting him to talk to me. I gave up the indulgent nods or "Oh, I agree!"'s for challenging discussion-starters and startling revelations. I gave up the hero with a sword for the defeated boy with emerald eyes and soft lips.

I repeat it...I didn't give up _on_ him. I could never do that, for I have too much faith in him. And I didn't _get over_ him, either. I loved Harry when I was a child, and I loved him last year, last hour, last second, even now. I love him as surely and wholly as I take each breath. But love changes, it doesn't remain the same. What was once a fairy-tale, impressionable love, easy to tarnish and shaky at best, is now a steadfast belief that in the end...he _will_ be there. 

I gave him up, but I'll never give up on him. He'll see....and until then...

I'll blow out one more candle each year, and think: _Be happy, Harry!_


End file.
